Chicken-pox, what else?
by JosieStyle
Summary: Neal has the Chicken-pox, Just a few days later after Clinton had dreamt about something like this.
1. Chapter 1

Clinton Jones was zoned out all morning, looking around in the office, trying to find someone who still wasn't at his desk. He was caught by surprise when a big stack of files dropped affront of him. He startled and noticed a smirk on Diana's face.

"Agent Jones. What's going on inside that big head of yours?" she asked with a teasing flare in her tone. Jones smiled back and relaxed almost immediately. As he hung back in his chair he nodded at Neal's empty desk.

"Notice something?" he asked her. Diana straightened her back as she folded her arms around her chest.

"Yeah. 'Boss said Caffrey called earlier that he was coming in later because he was pretty occupied with babysitting June's Granddaughter."

Jones nodded as a frown grew on his forehead. Thinking back at his weird dream he had last night.

"The one with the new kidney?"

"Yup, that's the one. Apparently, she was running a slight fever this morning and Caffrey promised to watch her until June was back with some medicine." That raised his eyebrows in wonder.

"Neal, babysitting. That's something else."

"Yeah, I agree. But he isn't bad with children, though. I saw him talking too Marge's son once." Jones nodded. "Marge, from 20th floor? The callers deck Marge? Does she have a son? I didn't know that. She looks so young."

"That's why I get on the tougher cases and you got stuck with that stupid Van all the time," Diana teased and gave him a friendly slap on his shoulder. Clinton snorted and watched how Diana left his desk to get some of her own work done.

It was a quiet morning. Sure, there was always some paperwork going around but it was funny how empty the _new cases_ files rack was. That almost _never_ happened.

But that wasn't the weirdest part.

Clinton woke up this morning with a weird feeling that something was going to happen. He wasn't a superstitious guy. And remembering dreams wasn't his thing too. But what he dreamt this morning before he got up for work was so real and different like the others, that it nearly scared him. So that was why he acted this way. It was kind of understandable that he linked his suspicious about this day to Neal Caffrey. Because… well… first off: All the trouble had something to do with that guy, lately. And second; He dreamt about him. He wasn't sure why or how this happened. But it just did. There were stories going around about people dreaming about friends to warn them about a plane crash or car accident. But this was much stranger than anything else. And he was afraid that if he didn't tell this to anyone, Neal would be getting into trouble.

But still… _Chickens?_ What the hell was that all about?

…

About one hour later, and still no sign from Neal, Clinton emptied his cup of coffee and walked towards Peter's office. Some sweat was forming on his forehead. He knocked twice and then opened the door. Peter was standing at the window with a phone in his hand. Like if he just ended a call with his wife because he was still smiling affable. He put the phone back in his pocket and nodded at him in a friendly way.

"Morning Jones, come on in. I didn't see you this morning. Guess you were out for a coffee or something. So, any news on the Hagel case, yet?"

_The Hagel case was a typical case. Every now and then a rich old man or lady contacted the white collar division with the accusation that the inherited family jewels were swapped for a forged one. Since Caffrey worked here this kind of cases where solved in a day or two. Because, the guy always could tell in a swift if it was a fake and who was the maker of the forgery. But this case wasn't on his mind now. He had something else on his mind that he felt like sharing, before it was too late._

"No not at the moment. But, Peter. Did you hear anything from Caffrey yet? Maybe I am getting paranoid but I have the slightest feeling something is wrong." Normally, Peter would make a joke out of this but to Clinton's surprise his boss was suddenly very serious and almost ran to his computer to see what the tracker signal was telling them. "Neal. Damned. He was very convincing this morning. He sounded so worried about that kid. I believed him," Peter murmured almost angry at himself to be fooled that easy. Jones frowned at Peter's reaction, because he knew Peter was always on the edge when it came to Neal. The name _Neal Caffrey_ was like a trigger inside his head. And it made Clinton a bit uneasy. What if something was wrong…

But, seeing the relief in Peter's face when he located the man in question, Jones felt the urge to sigh deeply.

"He is still at home. My God, Jones. You scared the hell out of me. What made you so sure that Neal was up to something?" Clinton shrugged his shoulders and laughed a bit embarrassed about what he was about to say.

"I dreamt something." He scratched the back of his head as he looked at his own leader shoes. There was an awkward silence between the two of them. But to Peter's credit he didn't laugh at him. Instead he was very curious. "Well, then tell me what you dreamt," Peter just said as he leans with his back into his desk as he crossed his arms. First Clinton laughed then shook his head. But seeing the honesty in Peter's eyes he nodded and tried to form his words.

"I saw blue and red lights and a gurney. Neal was on it. He didn't look injured but his face was deadly pale and… then I saw some chicks flapping around him. I swear I didn't make this up! But it felt so strange and I am feeling antsy all morning." Peter pulled an eyeball at him. "Chicks?" he repeated a little dazed.

"Chickens, Peter. With the feathers and stuff. And I know it sounds crazy, man. But… it's _Neal_." Again, with saying that name, Peter's eyes sparkled with something dark. Without any words he took his phone and to their surprises, it rang on its own. With a strange look on Peter's face he punched the call on speaker.

"Neal." he said firmly. Like he always did, by the way.

"Peter. I just took a cab and headed on my way to you. Sorry it took a while but the kid is fine. June is taking good care of her." Neal sounded quite normal to them and Clinton felt stupid for telling Peter about his Chicken-induced dream.

…

A few days later Neal, again, wasn't at his desk all morning. Jones noticed it right away but didn't dare to ask Peter or Diana what was going on. Because the both of them already made fun of him during a long stakeout night. Even though Peter would never insult his trust like that, normally, he knew it was the Van-craziness talking. It happens to anyone who spend a whole night in it. _No biggy_. He would do the same.

But then, suddenly, Peter came barging towards his desk with a stern face. "Neal doesn't pick up his phone and he hasn't left his apartment. Care to drive with me? I think something is wrong." He nodded and started to gather his things. Diana got some orders to watch his deskphone for a while until he and Clinton were back. Then they both left in a hurry.

By the time they arrived at Neal's apartment they already had some contact with the ex-conman. But his words kept slurring all together and he sounded very sick. Peter unlocked Neal's door with a spare key he got from June, because Neal told him over the phone that he couldn't get to his feet.

As soon as they found the younger man sprawled out in his bed they startled at the sight of a deadly pale face, covered with little red dots. "chicken-pox," Clinton mumbled and figured it all out. That was where the chicks came in.

"Yeah, it sure looks like that. Cute... Hey? Are you okay, Neal?" Peter felt the man's forehead, while finding out that he was throwing off heat waves. One of Neal's hand was folded on his stomach as the other one was still clutched the sell-phone. The poor guy was pretty out of it. He looked so lost to the sick feeling he probably almost never had.

"Pet'r… I feel so… Warm… Burns! Look at my arms…T-there are w-worms crawling u-under my skin…" He started to scratch and Peter saw that he had already done some damage to his other arm and bare chest. His whole body was covered in little red dots and that made him wonder.

"Neal… you never had a shot for this when you were a child?" Neal shook his head and fought the urge to scratch his face, because it would leave some scars. In the meantime, Jones was making himself busy with collecting some of the stuff that would help Neal against the burning itch. He ended up walking downstairs to ask the old landlady for oatmeal and started making his anti-itch serum, that his mother used to make. By the time he was done, Peter had finally stripped the weak looking conman, until his boxer of course, to help him get rid of the heat. He already placed some wet towels on his forehead, ankles and arms. But now that Clinton was done making his serum he started to smear his chest. It smelled realy bad and Neal started to squirm. At this point, Neal was getting a bit more aware of what was happening and shot an annoyed look to both of the agents.

"What are you doing?" he asked directly at Jones. He was about to come off his pillow to feverishly smack the wooden spoon away from his bare chest, until Peter had pushed him back down. The wet washcloth fell of his head in the proses.

"Calm down, kid. We are trying to give you some relief. Let Clinton do his thing and stay down, while I call for a doctor."

"N-not gonna happen," Neal slurred and managed to get himself in a sitting position. Sweat was literally falling from his pale red-doted body.

* * *

**AN: review maybe? ^^**

**X**

**Josie**


	2. Chapter 2

"N-not gonna happen," Neal blurred out angry. "Not like this…"

"Easy, Caffrey. You only make things worse if you don't calm down now," Clinton tried. He had a spoon of oatmeal in his hand as some sort of weapon to point out that he was making a big mistake if he didn't listen to him or Peter. _Poor Neal. Who would've thought that a fever could turn Neal into a little brat. _

"No!" the always so clever and persuasive conman yelled. But this time, he didn't sell it. No one was impressed.

Neal tried very hard to avoid those eager hands around him. Unfortunately for him, the wrestle game to oppose them was getting harder by the second. And then, when Neal was done thrashing about, he leaned heavily in to the strong arms of Peter. "I won't leave my room. N-not like this..." he panted and almost started to sob. Then he went completely slack.

Jones eyes met Peter's for a short moment. Their facial expressions were almost identical.

They were scared, in a concerned kind of way.

It wasn't good for Caffrey to be _this_ anxious with _that_ kind of fever. But it was even worse when he suddenly completely did the opposite in a split second. Blue orbs were still visible under his half lidded eyes. He was still breathing, thank God, but strangely enough not responding to anything they said or asked. Peter checked his pulse for the hundredth time and when he noticed the slight rushing heartbeats he gave a sigh. Softly, Peter placed the kid's head against his shoulder and started stroking Neal flushed cheek in order to give him some comfort and maybe that will be enough to ease him down, too. _Boy, he was burning up…_

And it was kind of working. Because, Neal unconsciously copied his slow breathing rhythms.

"Jones, he just worn himself out. I think we shouldn't worry." Clinton nodded and felt Neal's forehead with the back of his hand. Now both agents looked lost. What should they do now?

Neal's head was still resting in his neck and Peter felt some relief when he noticed some movements again. It was tiny. But Neal slightly dug his fingernails in Peter's strong arm as he tried to keep him comfortable. Alarmed at the heat he was radiating just about now, Peter tried to keep him cool with the washcloth. Sweat matted Neal's hair against his skull and tiny little drops trickled from his nose and chin. Soon, Neal would be dehydrated and that would make thinks much worse for him. So Peter had to let him drink some water first. In a slow and careful motion he guided the sick man's red dotted back towards the clammy matrass.

"Keep an eye on him. I gather some of his stuff and feed him some water before we leave. He needs to see a doctor. This isn't good," Peter said softly. In the hope that Neal wouldn't hear it. As soon as Peter backed away from the bed Jones felt uncomfortable. He flashed back to his dream. Neal, lying deadly pale on a gurney while the lights of an ambulance flickered around in a dark space. Did they need to call an ambulance? Was Neal getting worse by night if they didn't bring him to the hospital? His mind was all over the place until he heard Peter coming out the bathroom with a bag full of the stuff Neal needed if he was going to be admitted to the ER. "I look for some clothes, we can't bring him in like this," Peter said and walked over to Neal's huge closet.

Without any sound he finished up his work with the anti-itch stuff, while Neal was still at ease. And after that Jones gave a small sigh out of relief, because two glassy blue eyes were finally tracking his movement again. He gave the sickly pale man a sympathetic smile.

"All done, buddy. Does it make you feel a bit better?" he asked softly as he patted his ankle. Neal just blinked at him for a moment. Not able to do anything else. Then, after he found some strength he nodded gratefully. He looked so young and helpless. Jones couldn't help but chuckle at the mess he made on his friends body. All covered in oatmeal. No fancy hats and expensive ties this time. One day he would make a joke about it. But for now, he was glad that Neal was finally a bit more aware and relaxed.

After Peter managed some water into Neal, the younger man was acting a bit more like himself and lay still when he talked a bit until Clinton decided that the oatmeal did his job. And to his credit, it worked. Because Neal hadn't scratched himself in a while. He started to wash it all off when Peter asked the pale looking man some questions.

"Since when do you noticed the rash, Neal?"

"Yesterday when I took a shower I noticed them on my belly. Then I felt really nauseous. After that... things got south pre-tty fast." Peter snorted at Neal's amazed look.

"How the hell did you manage to get Chicken-pox?" Peter asked in a _matter of fact_ kind of way, now that Neal was a bit more himself. Because it was just like a Neal thing to do. _Do the unexpected._

"Samantha told me that her friend's little brother got the chicken-pox. I don't know why she told me... But... I-I never thought chicken-pox would be that contagious…" Neal brought one arm up to look at his rash and moaned annoyed.

"I still don't want to go to the doctor. I just… I just…" his face fell as his strength slowly left his body for the second time. "The stairs is going to be a pain in the ass." Both agents looked at each other and stifled a laugh. Neal whine sounded like a child.

"Let me take your temperature first and get you dressed. Maybe you will feel better by the time we are ready."

"'Kay…" Neal slurred as he momentarily closed his eyes. He was getting tired. But eager enough to stay awake.

Meanwhile Peter propped a thermometer in his mouth and waited until it bleeped. Neal obeyed quietly.

By the time Clinton was done cleaning him up and replaced the washcloth on his head, Neal's eyelids were fully closed and clearly fighting the urge to give himself over to a restless sleep.

The thermometer finally bleeped and Peter released a breath he didn't know he was holding. Carefully he took it out of Neal's mouth and looked at the screen.

"103.2. That's not good." Peter eyed the other agent.

"Jones, make sure June knows what we are going to do with him. But first Call 911 and ask them what we should do. I'll make sure Neal is ready, in case he needs to go to the hospital. I heard chicken-pox could be dangerous for an adult."

Clinton nodded and couldn't help but feel slightly spooked about this. He had dreamt it a couple of days before and now it was all happening. _Does that make him a psychic?_ _Hell no! He was not okay with that!_

…

AN: still like it?

X

Josie


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as Jones exits the apartment to make the call, Peter started to dress Neal into a loose sweatpants and white socks. Neal was pretty much asleep until Peter pulled the pants up over his tights and that startled him awake. "Who… What are you…? Peter?" he croaked, followed with a coughing fit. The cough sounded dry and unhealthy. And Peter hoped it stopped because this action visible exhausted him. Without any words he handed over a glass of water and Neal drank it eagerly. That was when Peter noticed the shakiness in his unstable hands. He helped him empty the glass by stabilizing his grip and Neal nodded his thanks, knowing that he wasn't at his best. He was only semi aware that a child disease had defeated him. And it still made him slightly embarrassed. He just wanted to curl up and sleep through all of this _so_ badly and only wake up when the rash was gone, but as soon as he made a move to lie back down again, Peter stopped him. "Oh come on… Let me be…" he pleaded. As soon as Peter laid a hand on his shoulder, he noticed the sudden coldness of his skin. He brought his hand up towards his cheeks and winched at the heat. Peter was well aware that he was lacking a certain skill to sense what was coming next. But he had the feeling there was something very wrong with his CI. And if he was a doctor he would've known that Neal was getting into shock.

He watched his friend closely and saw how Neal's eyes had some trouble focusing onto something.

"Sleepy… feels like… let me b-be Pet'r," Neal moaned incoherently.

"I am sorry, kid. But I want you to pull this hoody on, first. And I know it's warm outside but you aren't doing so well and Pneumonia is the last thing you'll need right now."

"Right… windy. And I am so wet. Don't wanna catch a cold now," Neal slurred again. Peter nodded and forced a smile but his concern was growing. It was scary to see his partner like this. And he didn't meant the awful rash.

At first Neal didn't object but as soon as he had pushed one arm into the sleeve he started thinking. A frown clearly stuck onto his pale sweaty face.

"Wha- outside? No! I don't want to go outside…" Neal heaved an irritable sigh but couldn't get away from the hoody that was stuck to the torturous man. Peter forced one arm in the other sleeve and held him in a strong grip. "Neal, that's enough."

Peter got to his knees to make a fatherly _your grounded_-face. But it faded away as Neal couldn't hold back another coughing fit. This time it kept going until Neal felt his aching upper body press against Peter's chest. He must've fainted or something because he missed the moment when Jones walked in. He was talking to Peter with a low voice (something about an antiviral within 24 hours) and when Neal was finally able to open his eyes he saw Jones holding _his_ duffel-bag and jacket.

"What's going on, now?" Neal asked confused and shivery. It was like he didn't remember what had happened a few minutes ago.

"We are gonna take you for a ride. You think you up to it?" Peter told him with a low and soft voice as if he was talking to a shy child.

Neal nodded unsure and Peter grabbed his arm to push him of the bed. In one fast move he hooked his other arm around his hips. Peter was sure he did it in a very slow motion but for Neal it was all too fast and he staggered uncontrollably on his shaky legs.

"Oh! Whoa. It's okay. It's okay, kid. It's okay… Sorry," Peter apologized. But Neal kept struggling with his feet as if the floor has turned extremely hot. He tried to get himself up straight by desperately clinging onto Peter's neck. But obviously, it didn't work.

"You okay, Caffrey? Can you walk? Peter, maybe we should carry him downstairs. He looks like he is going to pass out." To his response Neal mumbled something unintelligently that sounded like 'To late' and without another warning his knees buckled, head was lolling against Peter.

"Neal?" he heard Peter asking. Neal barley registered his own responds but it was either: _shut up_ or: _fuck off_ before the lights go out. He passed out… right on the same spot he was standing, between his bed and the nightstand.

…

Peter barely remembered how the hell they got Neal downstairs like this. But after Neal fell unconscious they changed their plans by calling an ambulance instead of driving Neal to the hospital themselves. By the time the paramedics rushed into the hallway, were they lay the poor man down on the couch, Jones looked as pale as Neal by this whole event. June immediately called Elizabeth on Peter's request and kneeled beside the couch, holding Neal's red dotted hand until she was pushed aside by a blond young paramedic called Danny.

"He is in shock and unresponsive with pupillary dilation. Body temperature of 105. We need some Icepacks over here," Danny barked at his even younger partner. Then he looked at Peter in concern.

"How long does he have this chicken-pox?"

Peter shook his head.

"I-I don't know. He said he discovered the rash yesterday evening." There was a sign of relief in the man's face. "Then this buddy still has a change the antiviral works."

…

Two hours later, Neal was out of immediate danger and admitted to the ICU were they treated him for his high fever. He had fallen into a deep sleep after they hooked up on an IV with some fluids to get his body hydrated again. He woke up once when they gave him a shot, whatever that was, in his thigh muscle but was too far gone to even understand what was happening and fell right back to sleep. The antiviral was given too and it could take a few more hours to notice some of the effects. A female doctor named July Summers, great name by the way, came by and reassured them that Neal would be feeling a lot better by the evening but that it could take a week or two until the evil looking rash would dry out and disappear.

Now that everything was done to him and Neal Caffrey was finally alone with Peter and Elizabeth, he was starting to wake up. Jones just took off a minute ago with the excuse to go back to finish up some files Diana brought him earlier. Peter understood how he must have felt and let him go with the promise he would call if anything changes.

El was pretending to read a magazine in order to calm her husband. He tried to read something too, but he was too worked up about what happened today.

When Neal stirred in his bed they both got up and rushed to Neal's side.

"Sweetie?" El said hopefully with her sweetest voice. Peter grabbed his hand and squeezed a bit, pleading for a response. And thankfully he did, by squeezing back. By the time both eyelids cracked open Neal pulled his hand away in confusion.

"Oh… Hi. What happened?" Neal croaked slightly unsure of himself. He didn't like that unknowing feeling like he wasn't on top of everything.

It was nice to see two people smile at him like he was so important to them. He smiled back, still not able to gather his thoughts.

"You gave us quite a scare, young man, that's what happened," El said with an flair of happiness inside her voice. Peter squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

"Does chicken-pox ring a bell?" he asked. And Neal gasped, remembering his frame in the mirror when he tried to get to work this morning. He looked so ugly and he even didn't recognized himself. His mind started to wander. Then he pulled up one eyebrow in wonder.

"Wait… How did you know I was sick?" he asked in honesty. It reminded Peter again how childish Neal could act. But this time it was in a good way. He looked kinda..._ No... he would never admit that one. No way! … Well alright: Cute. But don't tell anyone!_

"It was Jones," Peter said eventually, after he noticed that Neal was still looking at him. Apparently still waiting for some kind of answer, like he was revealing some sort of secret behind his best magic trick performance.

Neal clearly didn't follow.

"Jones knew what was going on. Don't ask me how this is possible. But Jones had a dream about you and a lot of chicks." Neal frowned dazed.

"Chicks?"

"Yeah, that's what I said at first. I meant _chickens_. With the feathers and stuff." Neal nodded and tried to stifle his yawn. "I like version one better, but could you thank Jones for me, Peter?" Peter nodded and watched how his wife gave the young conman a kiss on his forehead and wished him good night. He was gone within minutes and rolled on his side.

…

The next morning Neal was released from the hospital but only in one condition: that there were people around him 24/7 who could take care of him during his recovery. No problem for the Burkes!

He was still with fever and he had to smear his rash every six hours in order to stop the itch. His limbs were a bit weak and he had a massive headache for days. But there was no question about the good care he got from his surrogate parents. Every now and then Jones, (Mozzie was nowhere to be found) June, Diana (and even Hughes once) came by to visit him. And everybody saw how fast Neal recovered from this. Within two weeks he was almost the same but the cough stuck with him a little while longer.

…

Once he came back to the office the first day, Jones greeted him with a weird look on his face.

"What… What is it?" Jones shook his head as if he was about to say something very sad. A lump was forming in Neal's throat. He knew what was going on. Although, _he thought._

"What did you dream now?" he asked concerned. He didn't know that Diana and Peter, and some other colleagues were shuffling behind him, holding their laugh. Without any words Jones handed the conman a picture and looked at the ground. Smirking away. Then, Neal got suspicious and looked at it with a frown.

"Oh no, you didn't. You bastard," he exclaimed, while looking at himself, lying there all foolish and fragile and ugly with the chicken-pox all over his face; covered in oatmeal. Cheeks started flushing and Neal looked behind him.

"You know this is one step away from privacy violation. I can go to the police with this and make a lot of money out of this, you know," he tried, holding up the picture. Everyone just laughed. And Neal knew everyone must had seen it already. His eyes caught Peters' and he winked. He fucking winked!

"Do that, I am sure Cliff and Henry wants to see it too," Peter laughed and headed to his office. Neal shook his head angrily and walked over to his desk. By the time everyone was away Neal sat back in his chair and looked over to the picture and to his surprise he started to laugh too. Yeah… it was kind of funny too. Mean… but funny. He laughed again and shook his head.

Whatever… Jones saved his life after all. By dreaming the future about his wellbeing. He had brought them through a lot. They deserved a little teasing… Maybe… he would do the same too.

End.

* * *

**AN: Poor Neal! Almost died and now so embarrassed. Lol! Maybe I should see a doctor ;)**

**X**

**Josie**


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